


Sabriel Week 2019

by cutelittlekitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A/B/O, Canon Fix-It, Free day, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Roommates/Neighbors, Sabriel Week 2019, boy king of hell/leader of heaven, chapters tagged at the beginning of each, true form/wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-05-31 13:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutelittlekitty/pseuds/cutelittlekitty
Summary: Seven short Sabriel fics written for Sabriel Week 2019.  All are stand alone stories, though some may be connected :D  Ratings, warnings, pairings, characters, word count, and tags listed at the beginning of each story.Sabriel Week Fics:Day 1: Hunting for Peace (hurt/comfort)Day 2: Stuck in a Rut (a/b/o)Day 3: Working My Way Back to You Babe (Canon Fix-It)Day 4: An Angel Saved is an Angel Earned (Free Day-sequel to Day 1)Day 5: There’s Always a Choice (Boy King of Hell)Day 6: Building A Better Moosetrap (roommates)Day 7: Scratching an Itch (wings)





	1. Day 1: Hunting for Peace (hurt/comfort)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A solo hunt goes wrong for Sam. Very wrong. Or very right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sabriel Week Day 1: Hunting for Peace**  
>  **Fandom:** Supernatural  
>  **Rating:** Teen  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Pairings:** Gabriel (Supernatural)/Sam Winchester  
>  **Characters:** Gabriel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester  
>  **Tags:** canon compliant, set sometime after 6x13, hurt/comfort, end of a solo hunt, Sabriel Week 2019  
>  **Word Count:** 762
> 
> Thanks to [apple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gold_pen_leaps/pseuds/gold_pen_leaps) for the quick and excellent beta :D 

Sam’s blade sings a whispered shink as it slides through skin and bone like butter, even while the venom spreads slowly through his veins. Sinking to the old pine floorboards of the cabin as the creature’s head and torso land separately with a thud and a thunk, his grip on the machete loosens and the weapon clatters against wood. He shouldn’t have gone after it on his own. Hunting alone is dangerous. Sam knows that. But he also knows that the arachne scattered up and down the eastern seaboard are his fault. True, he hadn’t had his soul and had been with Samuel at the time, but that didn’t excuse a sloppy hunt. At least this arachne is dead and Dean isn’t dying here with him. Or as good as dying. He just prays that Dean will be okay on his own. Maybe it isn’t too late for him to go back to Lisa and Ben?

“Sam! Sammy!” a familiar voice calls. Half a second later, he feels his shoulders caught and cradled, inches above the floor. Fire pulses through his veins, and his vision blurs when he tries to focus on the face hovering in sextuplet above him. Whose lap has he been pulled into? “Come on, Sam, stay with me.” The voice fades in and out in Sam’s ears like a radio station you can’t quite keep in tune.

“Dean? Sorry. Arachne. Shouldnt’a come… alone… bitten… turning...” Sam is having trouble stringing words together.

“What’s the antidote? Hells, Sam, talk to me! There’s got to be a cure. How do I fix it? I’m too low on-”

Sam realizes his hand is reaching for the throat above him, clawed and prepared to rend flesh. Somehow, he manages to stop himself, instead, gripping a dirty grey shirt to pull the man closer. “No cure. Beheading. Gotta do it Dean. Now… before I… finish… turning,” Sam pants, blinking his eyes. The face above his becomes clear, but there are still six of them, overlapping in odd juxtapositions so that he can’t quite tell… not Dean though… but familiar.

“Not a chance, kiddo. You’re not dying _or_ becoming a monster. Not if I have anything to say about it. But I’m a bit low on power at the moment. Sorry, Sam. I’m gonna need you to give me a jump start.”

“What’re y-” Before Sam can finish his question, it’s answered, both by lips covering his and a hand pressing against his chest. Without his realization, the fiery pain pulsing through his veins fades to nothing but a mild ache as a much more intense agony sparks in his chest where the warm hand pressing against him pushes further, reaching inside to Sam’s very heart and soul. At that point, all thought of pain flees his mind as Sam feels an indescribable euphoria, so amazing, so pure, so… complete. As if something he hadn’t even known he’d lost has come home. The whole time, those lips remain pressed against his, swallowing his cries, whether of pain, surprise, or pleasure. Bright light assaults his closed eyelids, and Sam opens them in time to see caramel eyes full of worry starting to pull away while the blue-white glow between the two men intensifies blindingly.

“Sorry, kiddo. I know that wasn’t nearly as pleasant for you as it was for me. He keeps me too low to do much of anything. But any time you need me, Sammy, you call. Or pray. Whatever. If I can, I’ll be there.”

Sam tries again to make out the face, but all he sees is the icy blue light that chases the fire from his blood and clears the cobwebs from his head. By the time the light fades enough to see, his savior is gone. He could almost swear it had been… but he’s dead. Run through by his own brother’s archangel blade. 

Whatever had happened, other than feeling a bit run-down, Sam’s fully healed. No scratches, no bites, even some of his scars have disappeared. So has the arachne’s corpse, the cabin... Hell, even the forest is gone. Sam is laying amid overgrown, sparse, yellowing grass, and when he sits up he sees a sign across the road: Singer Auto Salvage. How did he get from New Hampshire to Bobby’s place? It doesn’t matter. Well, it does, but he isn’t likely to ever know the answer, so no point wondering. The important thing is no more solo hunts. And if he ever forgets, the mesmerizing caramel eyes that feature frequently in his dreams will remind him.


	2. Day 2: Stuck in a Rut (a/b/o)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tired of the same old thing, Gabriel decides on a whim to duck into a run-down bar on a busy Friday night. He’s looking for a warm and willing omega, or maybe a beta. What he finds is a tall, toned, gorgeous bartender with a quick tongue and even quicker wit. Brains, brawn, and beauty? The guy’s perfect. He’s also an alpha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sabriel Week Day 2: Stuck in a Rut (a/b/o)**  
>  **Fandom:** Supernatural  
>  **Rating:** Explicit  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Pairings:** Gabriel (Supernatural)/Sam Winchester  
>  **Characters:** Gabriel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester  
>  **Tags:** A/B/O, Modern AU, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha!Sam, Alpha!Gabe, rut, Sam has a size kink, true mates, anal sex, knotting, my first a/b/o, Sabriel Week 2019  
>  **Word Count:** 4237
> 
> Thanks to [Mukur0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mukur0/pseuds/mukur0) for the beta! I did some editing afterward, so any missed errors are all mine :D

Gabe’s Bentley slows in front of the familiar door, neon lights outlining a red devil to the left of it and a blue angel on the right. Heaven and Hell is the most popular nightclub around, owned and operated by his brothers, Michael and Lucifer. Loud music pulses from within, the bass vibrating the car’s windows. Same club, same crowds, same fawning deference to the Shurley name. For some reason he can’t find it in himself to spend yet another Friday night at his brothers’ club. All he ever does is sit in mind-numbing meetings all day and hit the same club every night, usually hooking up with some random stranger. He’s sick of it, but it’s not like his libido cares--damn alpha urges. Not that he’s a knot-head. Gabe would never force unwanted attentions on anyone, and he’s perfectly capable of taking care of his libido on his own. But he comes from the wealthiest family in the city and, not to toot his own horn, he’s pretty damn hot with a good sense of humor to boot; why would he ever have to resort to jerking it alone?

Turning away from the bright lights along the strip, Gabe drives the city streets with no particular goal, hardly caring that the buildings around him are getting progressively older and shabbier. It isn’t until he catches a glimpse of white-capped waves, reflecting in the moonlight dancing on an ocean of midnight blue, that he realizes he’s headed toward the docks. Not the safest area to be cruising through after dark in an expensive car. But somehow, that doesn’t deter him. In fact, he finds himself pulling into an unlit parking lot across the street from a ramshackle bar at the furthest edge of the city. The old wooden building is in sore need of repair, its warped siding, which may once have been painted white, greyed with weather and age. Like a crumbling gargoyle, it crouches atop a short bluff, keeping watch over the ocean below.

Despite its location and decrepit appearance, the parking lot is nearly full and the light that escapes the small, round windows along its front is warm and welcoming. Finding a spot at the back of the lot, Gabe parks, refreshes his scent blockers, and gets out, locking the car before heading toward the beckoning light. The night is warm, but Gabe had dressed for the heat of pressed bodies in the club. His white t-shirt, dark brown suede vest and tan slacks are light enough for the heat. They also happen to be a bit more upscale than the ripped jeans and faded concert T-shirts worn by the couple stumbling out the door together, laughing. He’s not overdressed enough to change his mind about the dive-bar though.

On entering, the bar isn’t nearly as noisy as he’d expected. Sure, there’s a constant babble of voices and the clack of balls on a pool table around the corner past the end of the bar, jukebox pumping out some classic rock that blends into the ambient noise rather than fighting for dominance, but the overall volume is comfortable. Not having to shout to be heard when he orders a cocktail at the bar is a welcome change.

“A fuzzy navel? Really?” the bartender asks, though he’s already making the drink.

“What’s wrong with that?” Gabe counters.

“Nothing. I’ve just never had to make one before. They’re too sweet for most of the regular customers here.”

“I happen to like my drinks sweet. I like my everything sweet. Like your ass? That’s pretty damn sweet.” Gabe grins, brushing his fingers over the man’s as he takes the drink from him.

The bartender laughs and it lights up his face like the sun coming from behind the clouds. “If you’re here looking for a hookup, I hope that’s not your A game. That kind of flirting won’t get you far here.”

“Is that so? Then what kind of flirting would you recommend?” Gabe grins at the bartender, taking in his tall frame, muscles filling the short sleeves of his white, v-neck t-shirt and beautiful smiling face set with twinkling green-blue eyes and framed by a golden mane of hair that begs for fingers to run through it.

“Well, a name is usually a good start.”

“Hi, I’m Gabe.” He feels a connection to the bartender, drawing his attention like a moth to a flame. Even so, Gabe isn’t about to include his last name in the introduction. If, by some chance, the guy hasn’t seen his face on the news or in the tabloids, which is unlikely, the Shurley name is famous throughout the city.

“Sam,” the bartender replies.

“Nice to meet you, Sam. _Very_ nice.” Gabe can’t stop the grin stretching ear to ear. He’s already flirting with the hottest guy in the place. “So, what flirtation would you recommend next?”

“Around here? I think the next step would be ‘wanna fuck?’”

Gabe’s laughter rings out, but the other patrons don’t pay much attention. In the bar already filled with laughter and friendly banter, the rich sound doesn’t stand out. “And that works?”

“Try it and see?” Sam suggests.

“Okay, wanna fuck?” Gabe asks, eyebrows jumping playfully.

Leaning closer, the noncommittal expression drawing Gabe across the bar in anticipation, the bartender answers. “Soon as my shift’s over, fuck yeah.”

His warm breath washes over Gabe’s ear, eliciting a shiver of anticipation. “I gotta say, not sure I can wait that long.” He’s never been this hot for someone this quickly. His loose khaki slacks are already feeling a bit tight.

Sam’s nostrils flare and there’s a flash of color in his eyes, there and gone too fast for Gabe to see. “You’re an alpha?” he asks, surprised.

“Yeah, why? Is that a problem?” Gabe asks, scrutinizing Sam curiously. Whether primary or secondary, gender has never played a role in who he’s attracted to, though most of the flings he’s had have been with omegas or betas. But with the prevalence of blockers it isn’t as easy to tell which someone is, and the few alphas he’s gone home with were surprised, but went with it anyway. Gabe always has lube on him and doesn’t care if he’s top or bottom.

“No, not really. But I think you’re close to a rut. I couldn’t scent you when you came in, but you’re bleeding through your blockers now. And there’s a red ring around your irises. It makes the honey-gold of your eyes stand out.”

“Rut? I don’t have a rut due for a few months yet.” Gabe frowns, realizing the room feels hotter than when he came in. Maybe it’s not the room but the heated blood starting to course through his veins.

The bartender’s eyes flash again, longer this time, and definitely alpha red. “Smells like it’s coming early, and probably a strong one judging by how quickly your scent is thickening.”

“Well, damn. You’re right. Fucking biology. And I was really looking forward to getting to know you,” Gabe says, sliding off the stool he’d been sitting on and taking out his wallet. Pulling out a twenty, he lays it on the counter, tucking the wallet back into his pocket as he senses most of the bar watching him. With a quick glance around he sees his intuition was right. Most eyes are trained on him, a fair number glowing orange, a few red. “I should get home before it gets any worse. Keep the change, Sam.” Before the bartender can reply, Gabe turns and heads for the door, alpha confidence wrapped around him like a shield, small growls stopping anyone who starts to move toward him.

Not that he’d mind slaking his lust with the whole bar, but he’s a bit more… generously proportioned than most and ever since his first disastrous rut he only spends them with professionals who are prepared to handle both his size and insatiable need. Climbing quickly into his car, which is thankfully still there and not in some illegal chop shop, he pulls out his phone and dials the rut service he uses, praying that one of his regulars will be available.

“Sensible Services, how may we help you tonight?” a cheerful voice answers when the phone connects.

“This is Gabriel Shurley. My rut is early. Is anyone available?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shurley, we weren’t expecting your call for another few months. We don’t have anyone available tonight who fits your criteria. Matt should be available within the next few days, depending on when he finishes with his current client and how long he needs to recover…,” the woman says apologetically.

“I’ll just have to manage on my own. Please call as soon as someone becomes available.”

“Of course, Mr. Shur--”

Gabe swipes his phone off, tossing it onto the passenger seat a bit more forcefully than necessary. He’s totally fucked, and not in the good way. After a quick check in his rearview mirror, he throws the car into reverse and starts to press the gas pedal, only to hit the brake when his passenger door opens, a tall frame folding himself into the passenger seat, stopping only a second to pull the phone from under his butt before his full weight can crush it.

“Sam? What’re you doing?” Gabe demands, shifting back into park.

“You’re the one who propositioned me. Who said you get to run away like that? Hurry up and start driving. Your car’s nice, but I don’t really want to get fucked in it.”

“There’s no way I’m subjecting you to my rut. Besides, what about work?”

“Ellen’s covering for me.” Sam clicks the seatbelt into place and looks at Gabe expectantly. “I’m not going anywhere. At least, not ‘til we get to your place. So get it in gear.”

“Sam, you’re an alpha.”

“And? Don’t worry, I can handle a knot.”

“Not mine, you can’t. Even betas and omegas can’t handle me in a rut, and they have the biology to accommodate it.” Gabe hasn’t touched the gear shift, waiting expectantly for Sam to get out, though he’s fighting the urge to pounce on him right there in the car. Either his senses are heightened or Sam is bleeding through his blockers too, because the air swiftly fills with the scent of strawberries and mocha, and Gabe’s teeth ache as he struggles to keep them from descending. It’s like the aroma was custom tailored to Gabe’s tastes.

“Gabe. Drive,” Sam orders.

With a frustrated huff, Gabe throws the car into reverse again, backing out quickly and slamming on the brake to shift into drive before peeling out of the parking lot.

“Where do you live?” Gabe asks as he rolls the window down to air out the car and get the tantalizing scent off of his mind.

“Nope, we’re going to your place.”

“Sorry Sam, I never take strangers to my place, not even one as hot as you.”

“You really want to be stuck in rut for days in the crappy apartment I share with my brother--who will definitely be teasing us through the walls until he can’t resist walking in on us? Besides, my bed’s old and barely big enough for me.”

Gabriel growls. His apartment is on the other side of town. Somehow he isn’t worried about Sam robbing him blind while he’s passed out between ruts, but he’s not sure he can make it that far. There’s an itch growing under his skin and his cock is achingly hard already. Another low growl escapes his throat and he steals a quick glance at Sam. Most would be quaking in fear at the sound, but the alpha beside him is staring at him with wide, red-ringed eyes. Sam’s tongue slips out to lick his lips and Gabe slams on the brakes as a red stoplight looms much too close for comfort. But the Bentley has good brakes, so they manage to stop in time.

Edges of his vision tinting red, Gabe takes off as soon as the light changes, speeding past the strip without a thought to safety or tickets. He makes it to his high-rise apartment building in record time, pulling up to the front of the building and hopping out, dragging Sam from the car and practically throwing his keys at the doorman with a brusque, “Park that.” He lives in the penthouse, of course, and can’t wait for the private elevator to climb the floors. As soon as the metal doors close, Gabe has Sam pressed up against the back wall, growling and rutting against the taller man as he pulls him down to claim his lips. Tongue swiftly invading and plumbing the depths of Sam’s mouth, Gabe’s hands are all over him, desperate to touch but unable to choose a single course of action. He wants to grip Sam’s hips, hard enough to bruise, and grind against him, to tangle his fingers in that beautiful, soft mane, to scale the mountain of a man and do some mounting of his own.

A ding and a soft swish behind them signals arrival at the penthouse and Gabe walks backwards without even looking, never breaking the kiss. Sam follows along with him in an awkward half-crouch, more focused on Gabe’s lips and hands than where they’re going. When Gabe’s back presses against the wall separating the living room from the elevator he growls in frustration, finally managing to pull free long enough to take stock of his surroundings. “Fuck. Sorry, Sam, I usually have more control than this, I just--”

“Don’t apologize; I get it. You’re in a hard, early rut. Knowing how bad a regular rut is, and how hard it is to keep my hands off you even though I’m not the one in rut, I’m surprised you’re talking at all, let alone taking time to string together a full sentence and worry about me.”

“Rut or not, I don’t take liberties. Anything you don’t like or don’t want, you tell me. And feel free to beat it into my skull if it takes too long to register. I’m not even sure I should’ve brought you home. What if you’re only here because the scent of my rut overwhelmed your senses?”

“One, alphas aren’t affected by that like omegas are. Two, I wanted you from the moment you walked through the door, long before I ever caught a whiff of your amazing books and sunshine scent. Three, whether you should have or not, you _did_ bring me home, and I’m not leaving without getting the fuck you promised me at the very least.”

“Why is that so hot?” Gabe groans, grabbing Sam’s wrist and dragging him through the apartment to the guest bedroom. Sam allows himself to be pulled along, nostrils flaring once they’re in the room and his wrist has been released. When Gabe turns from the nightstand with a box of XXXL condoms in one hand and a huge bottle of lube in the other, he sees Sam’s frown. “What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t your room; it doesn’t smell like you,” Sam accuses.

“It’s where I spend my ruts,” Gabe replies, gesturing toward the shelves of sweet, protein-filled snacks and the mini-fridge. “Sam? Hey, where are you going?” The tall alpha doesn’t answer but his sprint out the door and back through the living room toward the other side of the apartment triggers Gabe’s instinct to chase and he does, a loud growl rumbling from deep within his chest. The discarded clothes in Sam’s wake barely register as Gabe puts on a burst of speed, catching up with his quarry just before they reach his bed and tackling him onto the mattress. Teeth already descended, they’re almost to the skin surrounding Sam’s scent gland before the aroma assaults his nostrils and stops him just in time. This is Sam, the heavenly smelling alpha who he _just met_ and he almost claimed him? It isn’t like him at all. “That was dangerous, Sam. And why are you naked?”

“That was fun, and why _aren’t you_ naked?” Sam tosses back, wiggling his ass against the aching bulge in Gabe’s slacks.

“You’re killin’ me, Sams,” Gabe groans, kissing and nipping his shoulders as he rips out of his own vest and shirt, followed quickly by the rest of his clothes. “Are you always this…”

“Omega?” Sam asks, tossing out the word like he has no problem being compared with the gender traditionally considered ‘lesser’.

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘eager to get plowed’, but that’s probably not the right phrase either.”

Sam shrugs, looking back over his shoulder at Gabe. “Not normally, but I really like you, and that must be painful,” he says, nodding toward Gabe’s engorged length without a hint of trepidation.

“If you think it’s painful for me, imagine how it’s gonna be for you,” Gabe warns, grabbing the lube that had landed on the bed when he tackled Sam and flicking the cap open. “But now that you’ve seen what I’m packing, I wouldn’t blame you if you want to leave.”

“Leave? Why would I want to do that? I can’t wait to have you inside me.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to, because that’s not happening until you’re fully prepared.” 

“Then get to it, alpha. I don’t know how you’re even still holding back,” Sam replies, wiggling his ass. 

Being an alpha himself, Sam has to know better than to tease someone like that when they’re in rut, but he’s doing it anyway and Gabe doesn’t know if he’s really brave, or really stupid. Or maybe he’s just really horny. Whatever it is, he doesn’t need to be told twice. Sam calling him alpha had tinted Gabe’s vision red, and it isn’t fading. “On your back,” he orders, waiting for Sam to turn over before sliding a finger past his tight pucker, stretching around the the rim as he thrusts it in and out.

Sam groans in pleasure, apparently enjoying the attention. When a second finger swiftly joins the first Sam’s volume increases, even more so when Gabe’s lips encircle his cock and slide all the way down to the base. 

Slipping a third finger past the tight ring of muscle, Gabe works quickly over Sam’s stiff length. He’s aching to be inside him and doesn’t know how much longer he can hold back, so Gabe uses his considerable experience and skill to bring Sam quickly to the edge, pulling off with a pop just after he slips a fourth finger in. His fingers thrust and stretch as he grabs the box of condoms with the other hand and fumbles it open. It spills onto the bed but Gabe ignores the mess, just grabs a strip of condoms and tears open the one on the end with his teeth. The need is overwhelming as he struggles to pull the condom out and roll it down his aching cock one-handed.

“Gabe, come on, babe, I’m ready for you. I want you inside,” Sam begs, hooded, lust-filled eyes locked on his as he slowly strokes his spit-slicked cock.

“Fuck, Sam,” Gabe groans, withdrawing his fingers and grabbing more lube to slick his own impressive cock before sliding into the well-stretched hole. Sam draws in a sharp breath at the intrusion but doesn’t tell him to stop or slow down, which is good because Gabe isn’t sure he could. When he bottoms out he tries to wait, but the heat is pumping through his veins and his crimson tinted vision narrows until all he sees is Sam’s face. There’s only a slight wince as he slides out then slams back in, and it’s quickly replaced by awe.

“Gabe, yes! Give it to me, make me feel it! Take what you need, then take us over the edge!”

Needing no further prompting, Gabe sets up a quick pace of hard, deep thrusts, his wolf pushing to the forefront as his brain finally gives up the struggle to hold his rut in check. Sam reaches up, pulling Gabe closer to wrap his arms around his back, nails digging into his skin. Gripping the taller man’s shoulders, Gabe pumps into him with abandon, deep and hard, over and over, with a stamina built up by years of practice. Unable to articulate the perfection of driving into that tight heat, Gabe just lets out a series of low growls, thrusting hard and deep until his knot begins to catch on Sam’s rim with every stroke. Wrenching control back from his wolf, Gabe forces his hips to slow and his thrusts to shallow. If he goes too deep now, his knot will catch and that’s not something they discussed beforehand so, no matter how much he wants to knot (mate, his wolf whispers) Sam, he won’t.

“No! Don’t hold back! Knot me, alpha,” Sam orders, the force of his alpha voice behind it.

Though alphas aren’t supposed to respond to an alpha command, other than their pack leader, Gabe’s wolf jumps to the demand, wresting control back as his speed picks up, thrusts hard and deep, knot catching against the rim until it locks into place. Pushing deep, he spills into the condom in hot, pulsing waves. “Fuck! Sam!” Gabe cries, diving for Sam’s shoulder on instinct to clamp his teeth over the scent gland there. Fortunately, he can’t quite reach. Not until Sam surges up, his own teeth finding Gabe’s gland and sinking in. Then Gabe’s teeth find their mark and pierce Sam’s skin at the same time. The copper tang of blood seeps into his mouth and Gabe’s wolf teeth retreat, allowing him to tongue over the bite, stopping the blood flow and speeding healing as Sam does the same to Gabe’s shoulder. It isn’t until then that Gabe realises there’s moisture between their stomachs. Fuck. His rut had taken control of him to the point where he’d stopped thinking about Sam’s pleasure at all. At least he knows Sam got there too, but even in a rut he’s never lost himself enough to forget about his partner.

“Well, that happened,” Sam says sheepishly as he pulls away to trace a thumb lightly over the new mark on Gabe’s shoulder.

“Shit,” Gabe replies, collapsing on top of Sam, who easily rolls them onto their sides. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Is it though?”

“Yes, Sam. Mating is serious. And permanent. I can’t believe I let myself lose control like that. I mean, that’s not who I am. Sure, I like to goof around, but I’m an intelligent, responsible person.”

“Yeah, but think about it for a minute, Gabe. You said your rut was months early. Not just weeks, _months_. Has that ever happened to you before?” Sam asks gently, pushing Gabe’s sweaty, golden, wavy locks back from his forehead.

“No.” Gabe frowns.

“And it’s gone now, isn’t it?”

Gabe blinks. It’s true. He’s not just between ruts; it’s gone completely. “Yeah. Why? What does that mean?”

“We’re true mates, Gabe,” Sam says softly, hand cupping Gabe’s jaw as he thumbs gently over his cheek.

“There’s no such thing.”

“Sure there is. It’s rare, but it does happen when the right people manage to meet.”

“But… we’re both alphas,” Gabe points out, reaching down to give a gentle squeeze to Sam’s knot, drawing another orgasm from him which causes him to tighten around Gabe’s knot, drawing a second orgasm from him in response.

“Obviously. Apparently, that doesn’t matter,” Sam replies with a smile.

“We…” Gabe thinks back over old legends and bedtime stories. Sure, everyone’s heard of true mates, but no one really believes in that nonsense anymore. “We don’t even know each other.”

“We will, though. I mean, if you’re willing to give us a chance.” Sam reaches past Gabe to grab the roll of paper towels from the nightstand and starts cleaning the mess between them, then starts all over when an errant swipe pulls a third orgasm from him, triggering another for Gabe. 

Gabe watches Sam’s gentle ministrations as he enjoys the afterglow, thinking about what a strange turn the night has taken. He’d wanted a change from the rut he’d been stuck in, then he wound up stuck in a rut. And now he’s stuck with a mate. Not figuratively, literally. At least until his knot goes down, and there’s no telling when that’ll happen. Gabe suspects it’ll be a while, though. “I don’t even know your last name.” How is he mated to a stranger?

“I don’t know yours, either. Like I said, we have time to learn,” Sam replies, kissing Gabe’s brow and pulling him closer, careful not to jostle the knot tying them together. 

Blinking, Gabe scrutinizes Sam’s face. He’s not lying. Sam really doesn’t know who Gabriel is. Considering his picture is on the news and in the papers almost daily, he must be the only one in the city who doesn’t. “You know, maybe there is such a thing as true mates after all,” he murmurs, feeling a swelling in his chest that has nothing to do with biology.

Sam makes no reply, and Gabe realizes he’s dropped off to sleep, peacefully at ease in the arms and home of a stranger to whom he is tied in more ways than one. Gabe has a feeling this random chance meeting will turn out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabe and Sam may seem a bit ooc in this, but, being an au, I focused more on specific parts of their personalities rather than the whole. well, it is what it is. it turned out a lot longer than i'd planned, and I had trouble keeping my eyes open while finishing it. also, this was my first time writing a/b/o. so, even though it was written by a tired noob, I hope you enjoyed it! back to canon tomorrow with a fix-it fic :D


	3. Day 3: Working My Way Back to You Babe (Canon Fix-It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Sam and Dean-O ushered refugees from Apocalypse World through the fading rift, in an attempt to buy them time, I was run through and died. Again. Like seriously, how many times have I ‘died’ from a stab to the chest now? Yet I died the exact same way? Again? Yeah, if that’s what you think, you don’t know me very well. *eyebrow wriggle*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sabriel Week Day 3: Working My Way Back to You Babe (Canon Fix-It)**  
>  **Fandom:** Supernatural  
>  **Rating:** Teen  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Pairings:** Gabriel (Supernatural)/Sam Winchester,  
>  **Characters:** Gabriel (Supernatural)  
>  **Tags:** Canon fix-it, Apocalypse World, Gabriel POV, pre-slash, Sabriel Week Day 3: Canon Fix-It  
>  **Word Count:** 1260
> 
> Thanks and love to [MalMuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses) for looking it over for me :D

Looking around this small village nestled high in the hills of Malta, you’d never know the world has already ended. Practically unchanged for hundreds of years, the death of technology had little effect on the remote village, and the angels, demons, and monsters didn’t bother with such a small, secluded, and insignificant place. Guess that’s why, once my brothers left and I could come out of hiding, I led the few remaining humans I’ve come across to this place. 

Well, that, and the fact that there’s something here I need. At least, I’d hoped he was still here. I really didn’t know until we arrived. Oh, sure, I could have flapped my wings and come months ago. But that might’ve tipped off Michael or any of the other angels inhabiting this world, and brought their wrath down on the helpless village. Wouldn’t want that. Especially when Michael needed the same thing I do; blood from a most holy man.

That holy man, Father Luca Camilleri, lives here. There may be another holy man surviving in this world somewhere, but I already knew my world had one here, so it was only logical to see if this world’s Luca survived. Lucky for me, he did. 

The other ingredients, I’ve picked up one by one on the slow trek here. It has taken way too long. Too many months stuck in this world as I undertook the quest to find my way home. Back to the world I’ve spent too many years, millennia even, running from. But not anymore. Because now, I have something, someone, to run toward.

My journey started with a stroll across America, heading to the ruins of Portsmouth, Rhode Island and an old Men of Letters bunker which thankfully, like its counterpart back home, held a Seal of Solomon. Less fortunate was the fact that it also housed an eldritch god in the stolen body of a young woman. It’s a good thing the humans I had picked up along the way, seven at that point, had waited outside. Kinda scary to think what fighting that thing would have been like if it had eaten, not to mention I’d have felt bad losing people I promised to protect. The battle was hard enough with Yokoth weak from hunger, and ultimately required using some of my slowly recharging grace. But, you know, what’re you gonna do, right? I held it off long enough to escape with both the Seal and my life, then locked the bitch back in the well-warded bunker.

The port in Portsmouth was just as ruined as the city, not a single ship afloat. That left me no choice but to head South, skirting around the once-big cities where monsters gathered in hopes of catching humans looking to gather in the old population centers. Eventually I came to what used to be Georgia where I managed to find a smaller port town with a number of ships anchored in its harbor. Looking through the selection, I picked a sea-worthy vessel big enough to brave the ocean but small enough to be manned by the couple dozen people who’d joined me by then. We made our way across the Atlantic and all the way across the Mediterranian, months of sailing on open waters, so we could swing by Syria. 

Leaving the humans in a secluded cove with the ship, I spent weeks making my way to the Tree of Life, not using my wings until I was literally as close as humanly possible. Even so, I still had to make a short fight to finish the trip, only to find the tree’s guardians, a clan of djinn, wiped out, their bodies littered around the trunk of the tree. Well, the burned out husk that was left of the tree. Luckily, the bodies hadn’t been rifled through and I managed to find a small bag of the fruits I need hung around the neck of what must have been the clan’s queen. That was when I knew Michael must have followed through on the pact he made with Lucifer to open a rift for both of them to go to my world. I’m normally a pretty laid back guy, but the thought of those two loose on the world I love, knowing who would be the ones confronting my brothers with nothing but hope, determination, and probably a half-assed plan, I was all the more eager to get home. Why am I never there for him when he needs me most?

When I hightailed it out of there, I learned it was smart of me not to use my wings. I wasn’t alone when I landed back on the path I’d flown from. Ishim was there, hoping he could convince me to join his faction. Though the visit was unwelcome, the news I got from Ishim was even worse; Michael had already been gone for months and the remaining angels were battling for supremacy. I wasn’t really in the mood for a fight, but Ishim was a smug bastard. I seem to remember the Benjamin from our world being decent enough though, and since she was this Ishim’s second in command, maybe his faction will be better for humanity. It certainly couldn’t be worse; Ishim hated humans.

The trek back to the ship was easier and within ten days we were on the open waters of the Mediterranian again, backtracking to the island of Malta where I hoped to find the most holy man. It took quite a while to find the secluded village, but we managed, all twenty-two Americans along with a group of seven Syrians and an Egyptian they rescued while I was getting the fruit. Luca himself came out to meet us as we wound our way up the narrow mountain path that finally brought us to the end of my quest. Gotta say, I don’t think I’ve ever met another human quite like him. Friendly and kind, he’s worldly in a way that belies his apparent naivete. Bit of an odd combination, but if more humans were like him I would’ve had far less work to do when I was playing the trickster. My refugees and I were all welcomed with open arms, and my entourage got to making homes for themselves and helping the community.

This isn’t my world and its fight isn’t mine, but it’d be nice if the humans here can stay hidden and safe. And hopefully, once I get home, we can find a way to get rid of Michael that doesn’t involve sending him back here, because this world’s had enough of that bag of dicks. Of course, I gotta actually get home first. And then make sure he’s safe. As long as he’s there waiting for me—well, not literally because he thinks I’m dead. Again.—we can do whatever needs to be done. And we’ll do it together like we should’ve been doing all along, if I wasn’t such a damn coward.

I’ve already said my goodbyes to this world and the friends I’ve made here. I’ve done what I could for them. I’ve gathered my ingredients. I’ve come to the end of my journey through this broken world. It’s time to go home. Time to go back to Sam, and tell him all the things I was too chickenshit to say before. Of all the taboo four-letter words in existence, there’s only one I thought I’d never say. The time has come to change that. Just one more thing I need to say first:

_“Koth Munto Nontox.”_


	4. Day 4: An Angel Saved is an Angel Earned (Free Day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being rescued from a botched hunt where he almost turned into an arachne, Sam starts having dreams about the archangel that got away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sabriel Week Day 4: An Angel Saved is an Angel Earned (Free Day)**  
>  **Fandom:** Supernatural  
>  **Rating:** Older Teen  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Pairings:** Gabriel (Supernatural)/Sam Winchester  
>  **Characters:** Gabriel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester  
>  **Tags:** Canon Divergent, hurt/comfort, Sabriel, dream walking, allusions to torture, mentions of injuries, hinting at soulmates, Sabriel Week Day 4: Free Day  
>  **Word Count:** 3301
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  Not beta’d, late, and I’m falling asleep. I did give it a quick proofread but I probably missed things. Did i mention i’m falling asleep? Anyway, free day and a free angel, along with a continuation of the hurt/comfort from day 1.

Sam casts frequent, fearful looks toward the motel bed from the table where he’s pretending to research on his computer. Dean went to bed hours ago and Sam knows he’ll be dragging on their hunt tomorrow if he doesn’t get some sleep. And it’s not as though the bed is any different from the thousands of other cheap motel beds he’s slept in all his life. The bed itself isn’t the problem at all. It’s the dreams.

Every time he manages to sleep, he’s assaulted with dreams of the trickster archangel who died well over a year ago. Gabriel features often in his nighttime visions, always in dirty, frayed, and baggy clothes, scars and bruises littering every inch of visible skin, including his bare feet. Sam has no idea why he keeps dreaming up such awful things but they disturb his sleep and he wakes every morning feeling unsettled and sad.

But, no matter how much he abhors the horror of Gabe’s circumstances in the dreams, he still longs for them. On the rare occasions that his sleep remains dreamless, he wakes more unsettled than if he had dreamed, and always, the following nights’ dreams feature Gabriel in an even worse state.

He doesn’t know why he’s started avoiding going to bed, but regardless, Sam can’t stay awake forever. With a heavy sigh, he closes his laptop and trudges over, stripping down to his boxers before settling onto the slightly lumpy mattress. Almost as soon as his head hits the pillow and his eyes close, Sam finds himself in the same tiny cell as always, the archangel huddled against the back wall with his arms pulling his knees tight to his chest. Today’s new injuries are more obvious and even worse than anything so far. His mouth has been sewn shut with strong, black cable and his gaze on Sam is mournful.

“Fuck, Gabe. I don’t know why I keep dreaming these things but I wish it would stop. You don’t deserve any of this. I forgave everything you’ve done to me in the past when you decided to take the side of humanity over either of your brothers. This isn’t what I want to dream. I want to see you happy and laughing in the sunshine, not tortured in a dark, dank cell. And this,” Sam adds, waving a hand shakily toward the stitches holding Gabriel’s lips tightly together, “is just the most horrible thing ever. You love to talk. Not being able to must be the worst thing that could happen to you.”

Gabriel nods sadly.

“I don’t get it. I _know_ I’m in a dream, so why can’t I just change it? I’m familiar with lucid dreaming. After the case with that Jeremy kid using african dream root, I thought I was an expert at controlling my dreams. But this, these dreams of you… no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to make them better.” Sam sighs, moving closer to the archangel and dropping to his knees. Reaching a hand to cup his patchilly bearded cheek, Sam hesitates, not sure if his touch is welcome. 

Gabriel closes the inches between them himself, nuzzling against the large hand. He only flinches a little when Sam’s thumb brushes lightly over his sewn lips, willing the threads away.

They’re still there. “Gabriel… Tell me how I can help you.”

Blinking moist eyes, Gabriel leans closer, resting his forehead against Sam’s. 

In response, Sam shifts onto his butt and pulls the archangel to him, cradling the smaller body between his legs and against his chest. One of Gabe’s hands releases the tight hold on his knees to rest against Sam’s bare pectorals. Feeling his heart jump and speed at the touch, Sam holds Gabe tighter, trying to project warmth and protection rather than confinement.

“Please… there must be some way to make this better,” Sam murmurs against stringy, dark hair that once shone golden as sunlight. His hand covers Gabriel’s on his chest, pushing the small palm more firmly against his chest. That hunt when he’d almost turned into an arachne, Gabriel had reached his hand into Sam’s chest to gather power to heal. It hadn’t been real, of course; couldn’t have been. Sam saw Gabriel die with his own eyes. He knows his dreams of the archangel can’t be real. Even so, maybe this dream Gabriel could recharge his power the same way? “Gabe… Gabriel. Is it possible… Can you… I mean, I know this is just a dream, but I’m pretty sure I dreamed you getting energy from my soul before; could you do that now? If you touched it--my soul, I mean--would you be able to draw enough power to heal yourself and get out of this place?”

Gabe nods slowly, but there’s uncertainty in the movement.

“You don’t want to?” A small nod. “Why not? It doesn’t hurt me. Well, I mean, it doesn’t damage me. Physically, yeah, it hurts at first, but once you’re connected, it felt…”

Pulling his hand from under Sam’s, Gabe places it over Sam’s mouth a few moments before pulling away.

“Sorry, I don’t understand,” Sam apologizes.

Puffing a sigh of air through his nose, Gabe points to Sam’s chest, places his hand over Sam’s mouth, then holds a finger up over his mouth in the universal gesture for quiet. When Sam’s brow furrows further in confusion, Gabe makes the same sequence of gestures twice more, then throws up the hand in frustration before wrapping it back around his knees and leaning harder into Sam.

For several minutes, Sam just holds him as he replays the motions in his mind. Eventually, it occurs to him that, ever since these dreams started, any conversation they’d had was always whispered, quiet. Before Gabriel’s mouth was sewn, Sam’s whispering had just been a natural response to the angel’s hushed murmurs. But he’d never questioned why Gabe was always so quiet when they spoke. Obviously Gabriel was imprisoned, so maybe he kept quiet to avoid the notice of his captor? If that was the case, then Sam screaming--and he would; it was an involuntary response--when Gabe reached in to touch his soul would bring unwanted attention.

“Gabriel, were you trying to say that if you touched my soul I would scream and we have to be quiet?”

Corners of his mouth twitching up as much as the stitches allow, Gabriel gives a short nod, followed by a wink that seems to say ‘see, I knew you could figure it out’.

“I’ll keep both hands over my mouth and stay as still as possible. I want you to do it, Gabe. If there’s any way I can help you get out of here, I want to try.”

Time seems to stretch on into eternity as Gabriel searches Sam’s eyes. Eventually he gives a slow shake of his head, then nuzzles back against Sam’s chest.

Frustrated at the archangel’s stubbornness, Sam just holds him for as long as he can, until the dream fades into morning.

  


* * *

  


“Dude, you look like shit, Sam. Go to bed,” Dean says, fresh cup of coffee in hand as he sits beside Sam at the library table in their newly inherited bunker.

“Not tired,” Sam lies, closing the book he was looking through and grabbing another from the stack. Dean snatches it from his hands and puts it back.

“Man, never thought I’d get to say this to you, but, go to your room. You don’t gotta sleep but at least rest your eyes some. They’re so red I think I could summon you at a crossroads,” Dean insists.

“Fuck you, Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam knows Dean is just worried about him, but the truth is, he’s scared to go to sleep. Over the years, he’s offered his soul to Gabriel many, many times, but the archangel always refused. His dreams of Gabriel grew more and more infrequent until they’d stopped altogether. And then, his first night in the bunker, the first night in a room that was his own, Sam dreamed of Gabe again. 

That was last night. And the Gabriel in his dream was terrified and tortured and so very weak. Sam isn’t sure if Gabe even recognized him; there was no spark of welcome or relief in his eyes. Nothing was left of the jovial trickster or the worried archangel running from family drama that once comprised his personality. Even calling him a shell of his former self might be too generous. There was nothing left of who he was, just a frightened creature that shied away from any offer of comfort or warmth, as though even a hint of reprieve only served to make the horrors all the harder to bear. 

He can’t stand the thought of seeing that Gabriel again. And yet, seeing him after his long absence woke an ache in Sam’s chest he neither expected nor knew what to do with. It’s been years since he’s dreamed of Gabe though, even longer since those dreams have come two nights in a row. There’s no way Sam would dream of him again tonight. And it’s true that his eyes hurt from having delved into the expanse of knowledge accumulated by the long gone Men of Letters, using new discoveries to distract himself from last night’s disturbing dream. A few hours of sleep won’t hurt. Right?

  


* * *

  


“Gabriel, please, look at me,” Sam murmurs, crouching before the huddled rags. No response. “I don’t know why I’m having these dreams again, but this has to stop.” Sam sits beside him and Gabriel flinches, though he doesn’t move away. At this point, he may not even be able to move on his own.

“Why now? Just when Dean and I have a place to stay, a safe haven full of books and spells and artifacts to help us, why am I dreaming of you again? Maybe I’m feeling guilty about having a home, when you had to leave heaven and spent so much time in hiding, barred from the family and home you love? You aren’t going to answer. I know you can’t, not verbally, but you don’t even know I’m here, do you? Gabriel, these dreams can’t continue, not like this. You _have_ to power up.” Sam reaches out to take Gabe’s hand and he shrinks away, but Sam doesn’t stop, pulling a hand away from Gabe’s knees and placing it against his chest. “Shh, Gabe, calm down. It’s me; it’s Sam. I’m trying to help you. Please, Gabe. Please remember. Sam. Sam Winchester. You helped my brother Dean and me lock Lucifer back in the cage, remember?”

Sam was sure the angel was too far gone to acknowledge him, but Gabe surprises him by finally looking up, pale eyes blinking slowly. A hint of the old Gabriel flashes in those eyes.

Pressing the hand he holds tighter against his chest, Sam begs, pleads for Gabriel to touch his soul. Something inside him whispers that time is running out. Gabe has already lost so much of himself; much longer and there may be no bringing him back. This could be Sam’s last chance to convince the stubborn archangel to accept his help.

The hand still wrapped around Gabe’s knees releases its hold to reach up to Sam’s face, wiping away the tears. When Sam leans into his touch, Gabe slowly nods, then the hand on his chest begins to push and Sam clenches his jaw to keep from crying out. The sharp pain contracts his muscles, but Sam is careful to keep his chest still. He knows how dangerous this is, but if it helps Gabriel, he wouldn’t care if it killed him. Seconds later, the pain fades into pleasure as the angel finally connects with his soul, sending a feeling of completion through him once more. He hadn’t understood it the first time he’d felt this, back on the floor of that pine cabin, but Sam’s had years since then to remember and reflect. He and Gabriel are connected by something that goes deeper than the few interactions they had when the archangel was alive. 

When Gabriel tries to withdraw his hand, Sam stops him, keeping that connection a few sweet moments more before the archangel finally insists on pulling away. He draws a hand across his mouth as though unzipping a zipper then smiles at Sam, stitches gone. “Sam… need you to… do… one more… thing… for me,” he manages to push out past cracked lips and rusty voice.

Nodding, Sam leans in and kisses him softly, hand resting gingerly on Gabe’s bruised cheek. Gabriel returns the kiss weakly, along with a hoarse groan of pleasure.

“A+, Sam… but I still need... one other thing. Can you... pick the lock… on the door?”

Blushing at haven mistaken Gabe’s request, Sam scrambles backward, then turns to examine the lock on the cell. It’s one of the hardest types to pick, and without any tools, there’s no way he can-- Sam blinks as Gabe shoves a bundled leather kit into his hands without a word. Rather than waste time questioning where it came from, Sam unrolls it to discover every type of lockpick he’s ever seen, and a few he hasn’t. With the top notch tools, Sam gets the lock open more quickly than he’d estimated and slides the door open quietly, hoping it won’t squeak. 

It does, of course, because when are Winchesters ever that lucky. The sound of rushing footsteps panics him, but before he can even look around for a weapon, Gabe is out of the cell. Grabbing Sam, the shadow of the archangel’s wings spreads against the wall behind him as they’re both surrounded by a flash of blue light. Then everything fades as the dream ends.

  


* * *

  


Sam wakes slowly, blinking into the darkness. On the nightstand, the faint illumination of the old clock is just enough for him to make out the time. Five thirty-six. Less than three hours since he went to bed. He feels wrecked, more tired than before he lay down, and while his body is begging him to go back to bed, his mind balks at the thought. After a dream like that, there’s no way he can sleep. With a soul-weary sigh, Sam sits and swings his feet down to the floor, toes feeling around for the slippers he knows are there somewhere. Just as he finds the second one and slips it on, he feels a hand on his lower back, fumbling its way to twist in the waistband of his boxers. Sam freezes.

“Don’t go,” a rough voice mumbles.

Hand shooting out to turn on the lamp, Sam turns to find Gabriel laying on his bed. The archangel squints in the sudden, bright light, frowning. There are stark red scars around his lips and patchy stubble covers his cheeks, chin, and neck, bruises and barely healed cuts visible in the bare patches. His emaciated frame looks even smaller when lost among the frayed, baggy, dirty grey clothes and his pale, sunken, squinting eyes look haunted.

“Gabriel? What? When? How are you here?” Sam asks, reaching to stroke the back of his fingers lightly over the angel’s cheek, knowing he can’t possibly be real. The warm skin beneath his fingertips suggests that, possible or not, he is.

“You don’t remember? You rescued me, Sam.”

“But… that was a dream.”

“It was real, Sam. All those times I pulled your sleeping consciousness into that hell-hole with me? They were all real. I needed you so much, just to keep me sane, to give me hope. The cell’s warding kept me in, but didn’t stop me from pulling you to me. And as long as I was able to talk with you, I could endure it. But that kentucky-fried b-hole was draining my grace. The lower it got, the harder it was to pull you in. Eventually, I was so drained I couldn’t reach out to you at all. You shocked the hell out of me last night when you found me on your own. But I couldn’t let myself believe it was really you. I thought you were Azmodeus in disguise, or a hallucination. When you came back tonight though, when I heard your voice and felt the tears on your cheek, that was when I knew. Sam, I would have died in there without you.” Gabriel’s voice grows stronger as he talks though still nowhere near what it used to be. Being away from the angel warding, along with the power from Sam, seems to be helping, though.

“Why didn’t you tell me that before? I mean, when the dreams first started, when we were talking every night?” Sam doesn’t know who Azmodeus is but he guesses that’s who was keeping Gabe prisoner.

Gabriel manages to sit up, bringing his legs around carefully to avoid aggravating his injuries so he can settle on the edge of the bed beside Sam. “Well, I was kinda supposed to be dead at the time, and you thought you were dreaming. I couldn’t bring myself to admit I’d faked my death (again) and run away from my family squabble (again), leaving you and Dean holding the bag.”

“Hey, you still helped us even as you were running away. Telling us how to lock your brother back up was the key to stopping the apocalypse. So being imprisoned and… hurt… that wasn’t just a dream? It was all really happening?”

“Yeah, bit of a long story behind that. And I’ll tell you about it, Sam, I will. But right now…”

Sam nods, staring across the room but gaze locked on images from the pit that he’d rather not be remembering, even though it’s been years since then. If anyone could understand how hard it is to talk about that kind of experience, it’s him. “When you’re ready, I’ll listen. But if you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll understand. I just wish I could have helped you sooner.”

“You tried, Sam. I was the one who wouldn’t let you. Besides, I’m free now, and that’s all thanks to you. If you’re feeling the urge to help more though, I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to let me bunk with you for a while.”

“You’re asking me to let you sleep in my bed?”

Gabe gives Sam a small smile and wiggles his eyebrows. “That would be great, but even if you wanted to put me in another room, I’d be cool with that. This place is warded up the wazoo. If anywhere is safe for me, it’d be here.”

“Actually, I kind of like the thought of you in my bed. But only after a bath and some patching up.”

“If you’re willing to help, I’m willing to try.” Gabe grins and rises shakily to his feet, doing a good impression of a newborn foal trying to stand for the first time.

Sam gets up too, then carefully scoops the archangel into his arms. “I’m more than willing. You better be prepared to be pampered for at least the next few weeks. I can get pretty cranky when people I care about don’t let me take care of them when they need it.”

Gabe turns toward Sam’s chest, burying his face against warm, muscled, bare flesh. It hides the moisture in his eyes, but Sam still feels it against his skin, along with the trembling in Gabe’s far too thin body. The trauma he’s been through is catching up with him. “I need it, and I’ll let you.” The voice muffled against Sam’s skin is raw and broken.

“Thank you for letting me help you, Gabriel,” Sam murmurs as he heads for the showers, Gabe cradled gently in his arms. “I’m really glad you’re alive and here.”

“Me too, kiddo. Me too.”


	5. Day 5: There’s Always a Choice (Boy King of Hell)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trickster is trying to help Sam. Really. Dean is gonna die, there’s no stopping it, and Sam needs to be able to accept it. Unless he doesn’t?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sabriel Week Day 5: There’s Always a Choice (Boy King of Hell)**  
>  **Fandom:** Supernatural  
>  **Rating:** Explicit (not exactly in the fun, smutty way)  
>  **Warnings:** brief non-con, not Sam or Gabe  
>  **Pairings:** Gabriel-trickster (Supernatural)/Sam Winchester  
>  **Characters:** Gabriel-trickster (Supernatural), Sam Winchester  
>  **Tags:** Canon Divergent from 3x11, canon divergent from Mystery Spot, trickster, just desserts, just desserts involving non-con with a toy on an OMC, Sabriel hints, pre-slash, Sabriel Week Day 5: Boy King of Hell/Leader of Heaven  
>  **Word Count:** 2789
> 
>  **WARNING** there's a brief non-con scene where the trickster punishes a guy for abusing power he has over women. if you think that will bother you, skip from when sam hears it start to the next line break.

“How long will it take you to realize? You can’t save your brother… no matter what.”

Sam glared at the trickster, shifting from foot to foot. He knew that, but was still going to try his damndest because there’s always a way. And forcing him to watch his brother die over and over? That was just a dick move. “Oh yeah? I kill you, this all ends now.”

“Oh, hey! Woah. Okay. Okay. Look. I was just playing around. You can’t take a joke, fine. You’re out of it. Tomorrow, you wake up, it’ll be Wednesday. I swear.”

“You’re lying.”

“If I am, you know where to find me--having pancakes at the diner.”

“No. Easier to just kill you.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Can’t have that.” 

A snap of the trickster’s fingers and Sam was in bed, ‘Back in Time’ playing from the alarm clock radio. The start of a new day, one that _wasn’t_ tuesday. And the end of his world. It took Sam months to track down the trickster and confront him, but in the end, he managed to corner the dick, who was pretending to be Bobby at the time. Once the trickster finally revealed himself, Sam made his plea.

“Bring him back.”

“Who? Dean? Didn’t my girl send you the flowers? Dean’s dead. He ain’t coming back. His soul’s downstairs doin’ the hellfire rumba as we speak.” The trickster looked smug, but the expression also gave Sam the impression it was just a mask.

“Just take us back to that Tuesday -- or Wednesday when it all started, please. We won’t come after you. I swear,” Sam begged.

“You swear?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know. Even if I could…”

“You can,” Sam insisted quickly.

“True. But that don’t mean I should. Sam, there’s a lesson here that I’ve been trying to drill into that freakish, cro-magnon skull of yours.”

“Lesson? What Lesson?”

“This obsession to save Dean. The way you guys keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? Nothing good comes out of it. Just blood and pain. Dean’s your weakness. The bad guys know it, too. He’s gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta let people go.” Something in the trickster’s tone said he wasn’t just talking to Sam.

“He’s my brother.”

“Yep. And like it or not, this is what life’s gonna be like without him.”

“Please. Just… Please.” Sam was accused by Dean in the past of having a sad-eyed puppy dog look he could turn on and off at will. He never specifically tried for that expression though, it’s just how his face went when he really, desperately wanted, needed something. Like now.

The trickster sighed. “I swear, it’s like talking to a brick wall. Okay, look. This all stopped being fun months ago. You’re Travis Bickel in a skirt, pal. I’m over it.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that’s for me to know and you to find out.”

A snap of the trickster’s fingers and Sam was in bed, ‘Back in Time’ playing from the alarm clock radio. He was in that motel room he’d never forget as long as he lived. And Dean was brushing his teeth. The relief that washed over Sam was so strong it hurt, and he ushered his brother from the nightmare town as fast as he could, never letting him out of his sight.

It was as if the months he’d spent looking for the trickster, looking for a way to bring Dean back, had never happened. But they did happen; for Sam at least. And he’d spent that time thinking, strategizing, planning. Ruby had lied to him; she couldn’t save Dean. And she’d never had any intention of even trying. That meant Sam would just have to find a way on his own.

Dean wasn’t happy when Sam said they had to split up for a while. He claimed it was just to clear his head of the nightmare of watching Dean endlessly dying that he’d been forced to watch, but It was really that he needed time to enact his plan.

Hellhounds were coming for Dean, and the only one who could control hellhounds was Lillith. Sam needed to track her down and force her to cancel Dean’s contract. And if she wouldn’t, then Sam would just have to take her out. He’d have enough power to do it by then, even though it meant embracing the demonic ‘gift’ that had been forced on him as a baby. 

After going his own way, Sam got an old car from Bobby then headed out. He needed to find Ruby, but she always seemed to turn up whenever he was away from Dean so Sam figured she’d appear eventually, probably sooner rather than later. Sure, she’d lied about helping Dean, but she had information and Sam needed it. He’d just have to hope she’d show up soon.

In the meantime, Sam dove into research. He needed to find demons, as many as he could, and not just to drag Lilith’s location out of them. If he was going to be strong enough to face her on equal footing, he’d need to start boosting his powers. And to do that, he would have to start drinking demon blood. Ruby had broached him on the subject once before, but Sam had rejected the idea outright. Now though, after the past few non-existent months, Sam knows it’s his best option. It’s not as though he has a problem ganking demons, as long as he knows the poor sap they’re riding wouldn’t survive an exorcism.

The other half of his research involved trying to find Lilith. She was the current ruler of hell so it was unlikely that any demons would give up her location, no matter how much he tortured them. Being on the outs with her meant Ruby wasn’t likely to know. Odd weather patterns that indicated a demon’s presence would be more intense around her though, so that could help. But he has a backup plan. One which involved godly assistance--of the pagan variety. He found the trickster once, he could do it again. Okay, so technically, he didn’t find the trickster, the trickster found him. But he knew what lured the guy in, so it was just a matter of watching the news for someone simply begging for just desserts and then sitting on them until the trickster showed.

Sam lucked out a few days after leaving Bobby’s. There was a small article about a lawyer who fit the bill for the trickster’s type and he made a b-line for Indiana. After checking in at a local motel, Sam headed out to explore. It didn’t take long to find James Jones, or JJ as he preferred to be called. He was a prosecuter who’d been bringing charges against women for having premarital sex, breaking an old law that was just never scrubbed from the books. The article cited complaints from several women convicted and jailed for the ‘crime’ who insisted he’d promised to drop the charges if they slept with him. The fact that the charges had been dropped for a number of women who refused to comment on why lent credibility to the claims. Following him with the skill of a hunter proved it to Sam; the douchebag escorted a young woman from the courthouse and they wound up at Sam’s motel together.

Obviously, he wasn’t going to watch them while they were in the room, so Sam went back to researching online, looking for demon signs and keeping an eye out for either of them leaving. The day set a precedence for the rest of the week and by the time Friday rolled around Sam was bored and frustrated. There’d been no sign of either the trickster or Ruby and he was starting to worry the article hadn’t caught the pagan god’s eye.

Sounds from the next room pulled Sam from his funk. Normally he tried not to listen when JJ and his woman of the day were just on the other side of the wall, but these cries were a bit hard to ignore. For one, they were clearly protests. Secondly, the voice objecting was a man’s.

Moments later, Sam was bursting through the door of the room next to his, gun drawn. JJ was begging for mercy on the bed on his stomach, tied up spread eagle as a large dildo rammed itself in and out of the guy’s ass. JJ was also leaning against the table by the window with a half-eaten chocolate bar in his hand, watching impassively.

“You know extramarital sex is against the law. All you gotta do is satisfy me and I won’t press charges. It’s a good deal, you know? Definitely better than six to twelve months in jail and a hefty fine. What’s the harm?” The JJ against the table was saying as Sam entered. His eyes narrowed and he glared at Sam in a familiar expression, even if the face that wore it was the wrong one. “ _You_. C’mon, didn’t I just do you a favor? And you swore you weren’t gonna come after me,” the trickster complained as he melted back into his normal form.

“I’m not. Not coming after you, I mean. I just needed to talk to you. Please.” Sam tucked his gun back into his pants. It wouldn’t work against the trickster anyway.

The pagan god raised an eyebrow, cocking his head curiously. “You mean you aren’t gonna try and stop me?” he asked as the dildo gave a particularly hard thrust, drawing a scream from the crooked ADA.

“Nah, that guy deserves it. Uh, you aren’t going to kill him, are you?”

“Haven’t decided yet. I dunno if this one’s capable of learning a lesson. And, unlike you, if he doesn’t learn his lesson he won’t be hurting himself, he’ll go on hurting others.”

“You could always turn him into a woman,” Sam suggested.

“What? No!” the douche on the bed exclaimed.

“Huh. Not bad, kiddo. I think spending a year as Jane Jameson in jail in place of the women he wrongfully convicted might work. Be nice to the guards, JJ” He snapped his fingers, cutting off another protest from the guy as he disappeared and the room was finally quiet. The trickster turned to Sam with a grin. “Give you some supernatural powers and you might make a good trickster yourself.”

“Actually, that’s pretty close to what I wanted to talk to you about. Will you hear me out?”

Rubbing his chin, the trickster seemed to mull it over for several long moments before giving Sam a shrug and a smile. “Why not. My work here is done. Have you tried out that old-fashioned malt shoppe on main? We can talk while we eat.”

  


* * *

  


Giving a low whistle, the trickster shook his head slowly. “So let me see if I’ve got this straight. You want to play vamp on a bunch of demons and then try to take on hell’s queen bitch herself? All to save your brother?”

“I’d do anything to keep Dean out of hell, even if it meant taking his place.”

“Huh. You Winchesters are really somethin’ else. Well, I can’t say as I think you’ve got much of a shot, but stranger things have happened. Bit of advice though? Ditch the blonde bitch. Ruby’s got her own agenda and being all chummy with you? That’s just smoke and mirrors.”

“What makes you think that?” Sam asked.

“Hey, I hear things. These days, all any of the pagan gods talk about is the coming christian apocalypse.” The trickster shrugged, taking a sip of his strawberry milkshake.

“Woah, wait. Apocalypse? Who said anything about an apocalypse.”

“Oops. Spoilers.”

“So spoiler it. What apocalypse.” Sam knew yellow-eyes had been up to shady shit, but they’d put a stop to his schemes. The demon was dead, his plans of Sam leading some demon army to do who-knew-what dead with him.

“I probably shouldn’t say anything,” the trickster started, raising a hand to stop Sam before he could protest, “ _buuut_ word on the street is, you and Dean are supposed to kick off the end of the world, then play puppets for a couple archangels who’ll destroy at least half the world trying to kill each other.”

“What? That’s-- For one, angels don’t exist. For two, no way would Dean or I ever start an apocalypse.”

“Just ‘cause you’ve never seen one doesn’t mean they don’t exist, kiddo. I’ve been around the block a time or two--billion-- and I guarantee you angels are every bit as real as you or me. They just usually keep to themselves. As for kicking off the last dance, you won’t even know you’re doing it ‘til it’s already done.”

“You’re serious.” Sam isn’t really asking, but looks at the trickster expectantly anyway.

“As a heart attack. Hate to break it to ya kiddo, but it ain’t just the demons that have it in for you and your brother. From what I’ve heard, heaven is just as hyped for the final prize fight as hell. Now me, personally? I like earth just the way it is. And I kinda like you and your bro, too. So I’m gonna help you out with this plan of yours. I still think heaven and hell are both gonna shove you two back onto the tracks they laid out, but who knows, maybe you can derail their plans.”

  


* * *

  


Over the next month, the trickster helped Sam locate demons to help him power up, finally telling him where to find Lilith once he was ready. Sam confronted Lilith in the house where she was terrorizing an innocent family while she possessed their little girl. Of course she refused to cancel Dean’s contract. As much as Sam would have preferred not to harm the child being possessed, he couldn’t risk Lilith getting away. The trickster had insisted that killing her now, before she was ready, would mean Lucifer could never be released from his cage. Which meant no fight between Michael and Lucifer, so no apocalypse. A swift strike with the long, sleek dagger the trickster had loaned him for the fight and Lilith’s eyes had gone wide, blue-white light sparking from the wound, flooding her body and burning outward through her eyes. The little girl’s body collapsed to the floor, but there was no white smoke escaping; the demon queen of hell was dead.

Sam took Lilith’s place as ruler of hell, tearing up Dean’s contract immediately. The demons fell in line under his rule, especially since he drank any demon dumb enough to defy him. Crowley, a crossroads demon--supposedly king of them, but the title was self-proclaimed--helped him organize the ranks and set up a throne room in an old asylum on earth. Sam could manage to go between hell and earth, but preferred earth. Really though, who wouldn’t?

“So, pretty sweet setup you got going on here,” a familiar voice commented with practiced nonchalance.

Sam grinned at the trickster. “Long time no see. How come you didn’t stick around for the finale?” he asked. The pagan god had disappeared with a snap of his fingers right after loaning Sam his blade.

The trickster shrugged. “Well, you know. Places to see, people to punish. The work of a trickster is never done. Looks like you’ve done pretty good for yourself, though.”

Sam gave a shrug of his own. “Someone’s got to keep the demons in line. I figured it might as well be me.”

“How’s Dean liking you being Boy King of Hell?”

Averting his gaze, Sam got up and began walking around his throne room, pretending to inspect the decor.

“You _have_ told him, right? You haven’t, have you? Seriously, Sam, you did all this for him. Have you even _seen_ him since you took off to find me?”

“Hey, all this…” Sam trailed off as he turned to face the trickster, waving a hand to encompass the room as well as the ruling he did from it. “He wouldn’t understand. Besides, he’s better on his own, without me holding him back.”

“Hoo, boy, have you got that wrong.” The trickster rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but Dean-O’s gotten himself in waaay over his head. Kinda fell in with the wrong crowd.”

“What crowd? What are you talking about?” Sam demanded, closing the distance between them to tower over the trickster as the demonic power behind his voice echoed through the room and shook loose stone from the walls.

The trickster ignored Sam’s show of power, staring straight up into the Boy King's eyes, his face set in a worried frown. “Angels.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry for the summarized climax and where this left off, but it’s 3am and I gotta sleep. It’s not even proofread, but i’m throwing in the towel for now. I promise i will proofread soon, and it will (eventually) have a more detailed confrontation with Lilith, along with a continuation. I’m afraid those will take some time though; i’m swamped and i shouldn’t even be doing sabriel week, but it’s giving me a break from bang stuff i’m stalled on, plus showing me that i can get quite a few words out in a day if i’m excited for the story. So, yeah. Hopefully you enjoyed this unpolished first part at least a bit and can be patient with me until i have time to clean it up and continue.


	6. Day 6:  Building A Better Moosetrap (roommates)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the moment his prospective new roommate walks through the door, Gabe is _gone_. Head over heels, googly-heart-eyes, the works. Now it’s just a matter of tricking the hot moose into realizing he feels the same way. Right. Easy peazy holy hell, he’s fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sabriel Week Day 6: Building A Better Moosetrap (roommates)**  
>  **Fandom:** Supernatural  
>  **Rating:** Explicit  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Pairings:** Gabriel (Supernatural)/Sam Winchester  
>  **Characters:** Gabriel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester  
>  **Tags:** Modern AU, roommates, Sabriel, pining, mutual pining, not too long though, ass play, anal sex, Sabriel Week Day 6: roommates/neighbors  
>  **Word Count:** 3985
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  once again posted late and not beta'd or edited, so please excuse any tense changes or typos or whatever else. I'll read it over and clean it up in a few days. day seven probably won't get posted until Monday morning because I have familial obligations that will take all day tomorrow. anyway, mistakes aside, I think the smut is probably hot so enjoy? :D

Giving a quick glance around the apartment, Gabe decides it’s good enough. Well, maybe he should grab last night’s dinner dishes off the coffee table. But seriously, if the guy’s gonna be living here, he should know up front that Gabe’s not too picky about cleanliness. As long as nothing’s growing mold, attracting bugs, or stinking up the place he’ll get to cleaning up in his own time, and having a roommate isn’t gonna change it. That goes for clothes too, not just dishes. He’s not a slob, but there are lots of things more important than cleaning.

A firm knock on the door has him jumping and rushing across the living room. Having inherited this apartment, the idea of needing a roommate had never crossed his mind until tax time. Who knew a 3 bedroom apartment in the city would have such insane property taxes? Sure, HOA fees, but those he could handle. Between those and his monthly utilities, Gabe’s still paying less than he was for his old place, and this one’s all his. But the taxes? Hoo, boy, he hadn’t been prepared for those. This year he’d managed with a home equity loan but he needs to get that paid off asap so he can prepare to pay next year’s taxes. Renting out one of the rooms seemed the most logical solution. 

He’d gotten several calls the first day he put up his ad. Some had decided his place wouldn’t work for their needs, others just hadn’t seemed like they would be a good fit to share space with Gabe. But the one knocking on the door seemed too good to be true. He’s a college student with a pleasant voice who seemed laid back on the phone, and he’s desperate to get a place he can afford that’s close to the college. He’s been living with his brother, but the commute is too far for him and on top of his brother’s boyfriend being over every night keeping the guy up late, it’s just gotten to be too much for him.

Gabe opens the door with a wide smile that stretches all the way to his twinkling eyes. “Heya, Sam, come on-” Stopping short at the sight of the man on the other side of the door, Gabe’s jaw drops and he hopes like hell he isn’t visibly drooling.

“Uh, hi. Gabe, right? Thanks for making time for me so quickly.” Sam holds out a hand, then shifts nervously from foot to foot as the seconds drag on and Gabe remains rooted to the spot. “You okay?”

Finally managing to click his jaw shut and shake the outstretched hand, Gabe licks his lips and swallows, gaze roaming up and up. “Yeah, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to be so…” _hot, sexy, gorgeous, mouthwatering, perfect,_ “tall.” Gabe mentally groans at himself. Perfect. He must get that all the time. And really, other than adding to his appeal, Sam’s height doesn’t even make the top ten of Gabe’s ‘reasons I desperately want this guy to live with me’ list.

“I probably should have mentioned it over the phone, but really, after dealing with Dean’s low ceilings and lower showerheads, I’m sure I’ll be okay with whatever you have here. Unless my height bothers you?”

“What? No! Not at all! It’ll actually make things easier. You can have the top shelves in the cupboards since I don’t use them anyway.” Gabe is definitely thinking about the practical conveniences of having someone tall around and absolutely _not_ imagining Sam towering over him while pressing him into the mattress of his bed. Fuck. He is so screwed. “Sorry, come on in. Lemme show you around.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, brushing past Gabe, seemingly oblivious to the way it sends a shiver through the smaller man. Moving into the living room, he stops at the back of the couch and looks around. There’s a coat tree behind the door, snuggled against bookshelves full of dvds and video games. A hall leads off from the left side of the couch which faces a wall dominated by a huge tv screen and entertainment center along with shelves scattered with anime and superhero figurines. There’s a shorter couch against the right hand wall, and another hallway just before the kitchen with cabinets and appliances along the back wall, a huge stainless steel fridge on the right, and an island set with four stools separating it from the living room.

“So, you’d have the top shelves in the cupboards and we can work out however many shelves you need in the fridge and freezer. I like to play games on the tv after work, and then usually watch tv or movies after dinner. You’d be welcome to join me for either, if you want. The master suite is down the hall to the right,” Gabe explains as he heads that way. “The linen closet here we’d share. It’d be great if you wanted to take the top two shelves; I don’t use those. “This,” he says, opening the door on the left across from the closet, “would be your room. Fully furnished, like the ad said. You’ve got your dresser, king sized bed, desk and chair, and here on the right you have a walk-through closet that leads into the master bath-”

“Hey, hold up a minute,” Sam says, stopping Gabe’s progress toward the closet with a hand on his shoulder. Gabe turns to look at him, face falling as he wonders if Sam’s already decided against renting the room. “Sorry,” Sam apologizes, releasing his shoulder as he misunderstands Gabe’s frown. “Just, this is way too nice for the rent, and shouldn’t you be the one getting the master?”

Relief melts Gabe’s face back into a grin. He continues toward the master bath as he replies. “Nah, I’ve actually lived down the other hall since I moved in. I like having a separate office across the hall from my room and don’t really care about an ensuite. I’ve never even used this bathroom, other than a few soaks in the jetted tub. No worries though, it’s been cleaned since the last time I used it. The shower I have in the guest bath works great for me, and we have access to the pool spa and gym downstairs so I can soak in the hot tub there if I want to relax.”

“Wow, this is… You’re really okay letting me use all this? For that little?”

“You’re in college. There are plenty of other things to spend your money on. And honestly? I just need enough to help cover taxes and some of the HOA fees. A close friend left the place to me, along with enough to cover inheritance taxes so it’s fully paid for.”

“Must have been a _very_ close friend to give you all this,” Sam comments, raising an eyebrow.

Gabe blushes. “Not that way. We were more like brothers. Heck, we used to be called the trickster twins back in school. Pretty much family without sharing the same blood. And this is nothing compared to what he left to his sons.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s been almost a year, so I’ve had time to adjust. Always told him his life-style would catch up with him. I just wish he’d changed his ways before it was too late.” The shadow that darkens Gabe’s eyes passes quickly. “Anywho, I’m glad he left the place to me, and I just want to make sure I can keep it. So what do you say, kiddo? Think this place’ll fit your needs?”

“Honestly, it’s too good to be true. It seems like there must be some hidden problem. Do you throw wild parties or have loud lovers over or snore like a freight train?”

Gabe laughs. “None of the above. I do have friends over once in a while, but it’s usually for movie night or going straight to my room. And I don’t think you can hear anything from my room over here.”

“Just friends?” Sam asks casually.

“And my brother. I’m estranged from the rest of my family though, and I’m not dating anyone. How ‘bout you? Gonna have much in the way of company?” Gabe asks, breath held.

“I’m so busy with school, I don’t have much time for friends. And I just have one brother who’ll probably stop by now and then.”

“No girlfriend?” Gabe asks, trying to hide his nervousness over the answer.

“If I don’t even have time for friends, there’s no way I could make time for dating,” Sam replies with a chuckle.

Gabe isn’t sure whether to be happy about that or not. On the one hand, he’s available, and he didn’t specify ‘girl’ in his response. On the other, he doesn’t have time for dating. But at least Gabe has a shot, if he’s careful how he goes about it. Maybe it’d be best to get his own sexuality out in the open now, so that Sam can turn down the room now rather than later if he isn’t comfortable with a pan roommate. “I know how that goes. Work’s been so busy, it’s been ages since I had a girlfriend, and even longer since I’ve had a boyfriend.”

“What kind of work do you do?” Sam asks, making no comment on Gabe’s sexuality.

“I’m in advertising. Not a big firm and I haven’t handled anything well known, but since the higher-ups decided to branch out into web promotions we’ve been swamped with business. The world’s gone digital and all us old folks are struggling to keep up,” Gabe replies with a chuckle.

“ _Us_ old folks? You’re not old.”

“Old enough. I’ll be 35 in September.” He hadn’t thought about the age difference, but now that he has, Gabe wonders if it’s even okay to go after someone more than a decade younger than him.

“Thirty-five isn’t old at all. These days, lots of guys live into their nineties so you’re more than a decade away from even being halfway. And you have a steady job and settled life, right?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty good with where I’m at now. But there are times I miss the partying I did when I was your age.”

Sam laughs. “I’m my age and don’t do any partying at all. But honestly, I’ve never been one for that kind of thing. Most of the time, I’d much rather be home reading than out with loud crowds and pounding music.”

Gabe joins in on the laughter. “I think we’ll get along great, if you want the room.”

“When can I move in?” Sam grins and Gabe returns it.

“Let’s get going on the paperwork.”

  


* * *

  


Gabe sets the box of books on Sam’s bed, stripping off his tank top and using it to wipe his brow. Step one, show off his bod and see how Sam reacts. He’s a bit softer around the middle than he used to be, but his arms, shoulders, and back are pretty toned, and he’s always gotten compliments on his hips, which his low slung khaki shorts accentuate.

“Thank you for helping with all this; you really didn’t have to,” Sam says, setting the two boxes he brought in next to the one Gabe had carried. When it comes to upper body strength, Sam definitely has Gabe beat.

Patting his shirt over the sweat glistening on his chest and upper arms, Gabe gives Sam a lopsided grin. “Hey, no worries, Sam. I’m happy to help. Working at a computer or drawing desk all day, it’s nice to do something more physical for once. Any time you wanna help me work up a sweat, I’m game.” He adds an eyebrow wiggle for extra effect but isn’t sure Sam even sees. His new roommate is too busy using his own removed t-shirt to wipe off the sweat he’s worked up. The windows are open to the early summer breeze, but suddenly the air feels twice as heavy and three times as hot. Holy hell has the kid got muscles. For a bookworm, he sure is fit.

“Awesome. Didn’t you say there was a basketball court in the gym? Maybe tomorrow we can get in a game of one on one, then go for a swim? I made sure to finish up all my coursework yesterday so I’d have the weekend free to settle in. It would be great if you could show me around the building’s amenities.”

He’s dead. At some point while they were carrying boxes, he must have had a heart attack and died. Gabe had hoped to tempt Sam with his physique and instead, the sight of a shirtless Sam has short-circuited his brain. “Sounds like fun. Count me in!” Gabe hears a voice say. His voice. That was definitely his voice. Gabe tries to remember what the building’s policies on putting up fliers is. He needs to put up a ‘lost brain’ flyer in case someone happens across it for him. Because it’s definitely not where it belongs. Basketball? Really? Sure, Gabe managed to get good at weaving around the taller players in school, but he hasn’t played in years. No way does he have the stamina for that. Besides, he’ll never survive watching Sam’s gorgeous body in fluid motion on the court. And swimming? Gabe must be dead and in heaven. But then, dead people don’t hyperventilate.

“You okay, Gabe? I can handle the last three boxes if you want to take a break.”

“What? No! No, I’m fine. Guess I just spaced out a minute there. C’mon, let’s go grab the rest, then we can take a lemonade break.”

  


* * *

  


Gabe wonders if it’s possible to die from blue-balls. He’s tried every trick he knows to get Sam to see him as more than just a roommate and friend. Over the past few months, they’ve taken to spending time together on the weekends, giving him plenty of time to show off his body to Sam. But Sam is just so damn hot himself, and getting hotter by the day as Gabe learns more and more about him, his own attempts at enticing the moose seem to backfire. Gabe definitely gets far more worked up staring at Sam’s naked chest than Sam does looking at Gabe. 

He’s tried the movie night move, picking suggestive action shows to watch, keeping the popcorn in his lap so Sam has to sit closer, ‘falling asleep’ against his shoulder… nothing seems to phase the guy. He’s even played strip Mario Kart with Sam and tried to lose intentionally. Apparently Sam is _not_ a gamer and Gabe had to quit before he’d managed to lose a stitch of clothing, fleeing from the room because there’s no way he’d survive Sam completely naked when he can’t touch.

Walking around in nothing but a towel after his shower, bending at the waist when he pulls things from lower cupboards to give Sam a great view of his ass, making constant suggestive comments, he’s used all his best moves and come up with some new ones just for Sam. Nothing works. His attempts to entice the adonis seem to roll off Sam like water off a duck.

Even so, Sam seems eager to spend time together and throughout the weekends, the only time they’re further than an arm’s length from each other is when they go to bed. If they go to bed. Half the time, they pass out together watching a movie. Gabe hasn’t done this much secret jacking off since he was a kid and he feels guilty every time when an innocently irresistible Sam features in his fantasies.

At this rate, he really is coming down with a serious case of terminal blue-balls.

“Hey, Gabe--” Gabe pulls his hand out of his shorts fast as lightning when his door starts to open and Sam peeks his head inside.

“What’s up, Samalam?” Gabe squeaks in a pitch no man past puberty should be able to reach.

“Have you seen my hairbrush? I took your advice and got the kind you have a few days ago, but now I can’t find it. Since it’s similar to yours, just green instead of blue, I thought maybe you put it in your drawer without knowing I bought it?” Sam asks, making no comment on Gabe’s voice.

“I don’t think so, but it’s possible. You’re welcome to check,” Gabe replies, picking up the book he’d brought to bed with him and laying it open over his lap. He’s a grown man. Why is he having to hide a boner from his roommate.

Sam comes in, comfortable in every room of the house by now, and goes to the dresser beside Gabe’s bed. His hair is damp and a bath towel is cinched around his hips, showing off his slender waist, firm abs, and happy trail leading under where the towel is tucked over itself. Gabe’s mouth goes dry as the Sahara at the sight, then floods when his brain supplies images of the towel slipping from Sam’s hips as he stalks toward the bed. That quiet whimper didn’t slip past his lips, right?

Bending over the drawer--Sam’s not _that_ tall, does he really need to bend like that?--he rummages around a bit, shifting from one leg to another and causing his towel-draped ass to swing back and forth like a slowing pendulum. After a minute he closes the drawer and straightens back up, turning toward Gabe with a shrug. “It’s not there. Guess I’ll have to--”

The towel slips from Sam’s hips and the sight of his impressive cock short-circuits Gabe’s brain. “Holy fucking hell, kiddo, you’re _killing_ me here. Don’t show the gun if you aren’t going to use it.”

“What?” Sam takes his time retrieving his towel and tosses it over his shoulder rather than wrapping it back around his waist.

“Something they taught in graphic design. You don’t put a gun in the composition if it serves no purpose. But in this instance, I meant it a bit more literally. Don’t show me what you’re packing if you aren’t gonna use it on me. I know we’re both guys and all, but you _know_ I’m pan.”

Sam comes over to sit on the bed, sitting sideways with a bent leg resting on the mattress, ignoring his naked state or the fact that it gives Gabe an even better view of his full, hard length. “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter when you aren’t attracted to me, right?”

“What? Not attracted-- Sam, whatever gave you that idea?”

“Maybe the fact that I’ve been flirting with you since the day we met and you’ve never responded? I mean, I thought you were interested, at first, but then I realized you’re just naturally flirty all the time. I kinda hoped if I tried hard enough you might--”

Gabe cuts him off with a desperate kiss and Sam’s surprise only lasts a moment before he’s pulling Gabe into his lap, large hands sliding into his shorts to knead his ass. Hands threading into Sam’s damp hair, Gabe rocks against Sam’s impressive cock, moaning when a tongue invades his mouth. Before long, he’s pressing Gabe down into the mattress and tugging on his shorts.

“Can we-- Fuck, is this okay, Gabe? I’ve been dying for months, trying to keep my hands off you, and--”

“Me too, Sam. Been aching to feel you inside me.” Gabe rocks his hips upward to grind against Sam’s cock and neither of them can talk after that.

As Sam yanks his shorts and boxers the rest of the way off, Gabe rolls over to reach the nightstand where he keeps the lube and condoms, pulling both out and tossing them on the bed before turning back over. At least, he tries to. Sam’s hands on his hips keep Gabe on his knees. 

“Holy fuck! Sam!” Gabe cries out as Sam dives face-first into his ass, tonguing over his hole as he licks a wide stripe over the twitching entrance.

“Sorry,” Sam says, flinching away from what he’d been doing. “I should’ve asked if that was okay. I’ve been aching to do that all summer, but if you don’t-”

“Don’t apologize: that wasn’t a complaint!” Gabe replies, wiggling his ass impatiently. “I’ve been desperate for you since the moment we met, and the more we learned about each other and how compatible we are, the worse it got. Anything you want, go for it.”

Sam groans, diving back in to swirl his tongue around the tight pucker, before pushing against the center, giving teasing pulses with the tip of his tongue before finally pushing past. It seems forever that the only sounds are of pleasure as Sam eases Gabe open, eventually switching from tongue to lubed fingers that slide past easily to stretch and scissor, crooking now and then to spark pleasure over Gabe’s prostate. By the time Sam is three fingers in, Gabe is a whimpering, trembling mess, his untouched cock aching and leaking.

They’re both beyond words but Sam seems to just know when Gabe can’t take any more prep because he removes his fingers and swiftly replaces them with his covered and lubed cock slowly sliding home. When he bottoms out, Sam moulds as much of himself as he can over Gabe’s back, one hand gripping tight around his chest, the other supporting his weight. “Hard or soft?” he rasps against Gabe’s ear, and Gabe shudders in anticipation, part of him acknowledging that there’s no coming back from this. Sam is so perfect for him, he’s gonna ruin Gabe for any other man.

“Plenty of time for soft later. I think we both need hard right now.” Gabe manages to answer, mildly surprised that he knows that many words that fit together coherently. At least, he assumes they are, since Sam starts driving into him hard and fast. Gabe tremors with every thrust as though Sam is ramming pleasure directly into his soul. And fuck, he just might be at that. 

Sam punctuates every thrust with Gabe’s name, a repeated mantra that has Gabe floating, the sensation of the hard, hot cock driving into him better than anything he’s ever felt. Time no longer exists, just the push and pull and fullness of Sam’s cock that speeds them both toward completion. Pulling Gabe’s hips up higher, Sam shifts the angle just enough to hit the prostate with every stroke, and Gabe is thrust past pleasure and into ecstasy as his body shudders and trembles, both numb and oversensitive at the same time, his untouched cock twitching with imminent release.

“Fuck! Sam! Need you, please!” Gabe begs as Sam’s rhythm begins to stutter.

Sam’s hand wraps around Gabe’s aching length and his thrusts drive Gabe into the encircling palm. Seconds later Gabe is crying out and striping his pleasure onto the covers below him. His orgasm triggers Sam, who slams deep inside him and fills the condom with wave after wave of release. As the after tremors shudder through them, Sam pulls them both onto their sides, still buried deep inside Gabe, filling and completing him better than any of Gabe’s fantasies ever predicted.

Neither one is capable of movement after that so Gabe just enjoys the strong arms around him, scenes from the past few months drifting through his mind. All that time he’d spent trying to catch Sam’s attention, and Sam had been trying to do the same with Gabe, each so focused on their own goal that neither realized they both had the same one. It was as if, somehow, while he was trying to build a better moosetrap, the moose had already buckled on his own collar and handed Gabe the leash.


	7. Day 7:  Scratching an Itch (wings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being an archangel low on power sucks. But maybe there is a perk or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Sabriel Week Day 7: Scratching an Itch (wings)**  
>  **Fandom:** Supernatural  
>  **Rating:** Explicit  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Pairings:** Gabriel (Supernatural)/Sam Winchester,  
>  **Characters:** Gabriel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Castiel(Supernatural), Dean Winchester  
>  **Tags:** canon compliant(ish), bunker fic, wings, wing grooming, smut, top!Sam, bottom!Gabe, anal sex, fluff, happy ending, I suck at tags  
>  **Word Count:** 3142
> 
>  **Summary:**  
>  Being an archangel low on power sucks. But maybe there is a perk or two.
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  Sorry this is over a week late. Had some trip-ups with anxiety/depression and have barely been able to write. But it’s done now, and hopefully worth the wait! I gave it a once-over but it hasn’t been beta’d so feel free to let me know if there are any mistakes. I’ll be going over all my sabriel week fics when i have time to give them another proofread.

Sam hears a rustling behind him as he sets the coffee pot back on the burner. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Gabriel in the kitchen’s doorway, one arm bent awkwardly back over his shoulder and reaching downward, the other wrapped behind his lower back and trying to stretch upward. 

“Practicing for a career as a contortionist, Gabe?” Dean asks from his chair at the kitchen table where he’s digging in on pancakes and bacon with Cas seated beside him.

“Funny Dean-o. But I’ve already done that. Wasn’t as much fun as you’d think. Might even rank below college janitor. At least that job, the marks came to me instead of the other way around. Been bouncing around for millennia; it’s nice to get to stay in one place for a few years.”

Sam goes over and pushes Gabriel’s hands away from his back, scratching between and below his shoulder blades for him.

Gabe groans in relief. “Thanks, Sam. That’s perfect. I give you until the day after forever to stop.”

Castiel cocks his head, brows creasing as he appraises Gabriel. “When is the last time you--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gabe snaps, forgetting about his back scratch as he stalks over to the coffee pot to make his own cup. Sam follows, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Cas ignores being cut off. “Gabriel, you know it’s not good to let it go too long, especially with yours. If you want, I can--”

“Cassie, I said drop it—I’m fine,” Gabe interrupts shortly as he adds the twelfth or twentieth spoonful of sugar to his cup and stirs. The metal spoon clanking loudly against the ceramic mug telegraphs his feelings about whatever Cas was going to say.

Cas doesn’t say anything else on the subject.

  


* * *

  


Sam is starting to get frustrated with the archangel. Ever since he helped Gabriel recover from Azmodeus and then get revenge on Loki, they’d been getting closer. At least, he thought they had. Yet now, for some reason, Gabe refuses to talk about what’s going on with him and tries to pretend he’s fine. Sam can’t count the number of times he’s scratched the same spot on Gabe’s back for him over the past week; in the library when Gabe was sat beside him squirming, in the kitchen when Sam came upon him trying to scratch his back with a fork, in the telescope nook when he was rubbing his back against the delicate instrument, in the Dean Cave when he was trying to use the tv remote to scratch, in the hall when he was rubbing his back over the corner of his room’s door frame. Wherever he went he seemed to find Gabriel in discomfort, and no matter how long he scratched Gabe’s back, the itch never seemed to go away. Even now, as he sees Gabe walking past his open bedroom door, the archangel is doing his contortionist act again, trying to scratch.

“Get in here,” Sam says, closing his laptop and setting it on his dresser as he folds his legs up and presses his back against the headboard to make room for Gabe on the bed.

Hesitating only a moment, Gabe makes a b-line for the bed, sitting with his back to Sam, who starts scratching immediately. Gabe sighs in relief. “Thanks, Sam. I hate always relying on you, but I’m just so scratchy.”

“Itchy,” Sam corrects.

“What?”

“You’re itchy, and you scratch to make the itch go away. And for the record, I like you always relying on me. Anyways, why are you so itchy? Cas seemed to know, but he won’t say anything.”

“Yeah, because I asked him not to. It’s not a big deal.”

“If it’s not a big deal, why won’t you talk about it?” Sam asks.

The sigh that escapes Gabriel this time is not one of relief. “It’s just… a touchy subject. And I especially don’t want to talk to Cas about it.”

“If this is a psychosomatic phantom itch over something you’re feeling anxious or guilty about, I’m not going to judge you, Gabe. You have to talk to someone though, even if you don’t want that someone to be me, because if this keeps up you’re not going to have any skin left.”

“It isn’t all in my head,” Gabe replies, getting up from the bed. For a minute Sam thinks he offended the archangel, but Gabriel only goes to the door and closes it, turning the lock for good measure. That done, he returns to the bed and pulls off his shirt, presenting his back to Sam for further scratching.

“Okay, then what’s causing it?” Sam asks, rubbing more than scratching Just the pressure of his fingertips seems to be enough.

“Wings, Sam. It’s my wings. You can see why I wouldn’t want Cassie to help.”

“Because of what happened with… when we thought you were dead?”

Gabe tenses, casting a haunted glance over his shoulder at Sam. “I hadn’t thought about that, but yeah, it could be part of the problem. Not so much with Cassie, though. With him it’s just… I feel bad. He’s been fighting beside you guys since before the start of the first apocalypse and yet, he doesn’t have his wings anymore. I’m the ass who ran away and I’ve got the wings to do it again even though I don’t deserve them.”

“Gabriel, you’ve always tried to help in your own way, and you came through when it counted. You definitely deserve them, but regardless of merit, the important thing here is that you _do_ have them and whatever problem they’re causing, it’s not going to go away on its own, right?” Sam prods.

“It isn’t quite that simple, Sam.”

“Why? If it’s something only another angel can help with, you’re just going to have to let Cas--”

“Nah, pretty sure it doesn’t matter who does it, but my wings need to be groomed. And they have to be corporeal to do it. I’m afraid I don’t have enough grace to bring ‘em out, and if I do, I might not be able to put them away.”

“Well, even if you can’t put them back, you aren’t going anywhere any time soon, right? What’s the harm in leaving them out a bit until your grace recharges?”

“You mean aside from flaunting them in front of Cassie?”

“Gabriel, you know that doesn’t matter to him. He just wants you to stop being so uncomfortable. Bring them out and let me take a look? Please?” Sam stops rubbing to put a hand on Gabe’s shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze.

Sighing, Gabe scoots toward the end of the bed. “Only for you, Sammy. Stay back though, they’re kinda big. And I gotta warn you, I haven’t had them out since… well, it’s been years and they’re a mess.” 

As though he doesn’t want time to talk himself out of it, there’s a dull throb of blue-white light and suddenly Sam’s view is filled with thousands of feathers in myriad shades ranging from dark, rich brown to light, bright gold. The sight is breathtaking, three huge sets of wings sprouting from the top, middle, and base of where Gabe’s ribcage meets his spine.

Once Sam has absorbed the majesty though, it’s obvious that the wings are in sore need of attention. The feathers look dusty, though there’s thankfully no mud or grime, and jut in different directions, a number of pointed quills visible. They’ve obviously come loose from where they should have been attached to the wings and tangled with other feathers so that their disconnected, pointed ends are free to scrape and irritate Gabriel’s back. There are also many feathers of varying lengths whose barbs are rucked up and tangled with their neighbors. To top it all off, the wings are so dry that even the slightest ruffle sends clouds of fluff and dander into the air. “... Wow,” Sam comments, not sure what to say.

“Told you they were bad, kiddo. But hey, no worries. Now that they’re out, I can probably shake most of the bad ones loose, then--”

“Gabe, I said I want to help and I meant it,” Sam assures as he gingerly begins plucking unattached feathers one at a time. “Just tell me what to do. I don’t want to mess anything up. I mean, worse than it is now.”

Gabriel shivers at the light touches. “You don’t have to be so careful, Sam. They’re pretty sturdy. Just start with running your fingers through and pull out all the loose and unattached ones you can.”

“LIke this?” Sam asks, starting at the bone of the wing and pulling down through the plumage, a small pile of feathers landing on the bed and floor.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Sorry, did I do it wrong?” Sam asks, fingers halting.

“No! That was great, Sam, just felt amazingly good.”

“Really?” Sam asks, raking his fingers down through the feathers closest to the body on each wing. 

Gabriel moans, wings shuddering in pleasure. “If you massage just under where the bottom set connects, there’s oil there that will help with the dryness and let your fingers slide through more easily,” He suggests.

Taking his advice, Sam rubs there, finding the glands that secrete a viscous substance. Each time he finishes a sweep down the wings, he massages there again to pick up more oil and drink in the sounds of pleasure that slip from Gabe’s lips. After a few strokes, he instructs Gabriel to lay on the bed, letting the archangel relax further while he works. Sam takes his time, long strokes of his oiled fingers running first through tertial, then secondary, and out to the primary feathers, brushing the gold-brown piles of fallen feathers off the bed and onto the floor regularly. By the time he finishes the first and largest set of wings, Gabriel is practically purring. Sam’s arms and hands are already aching, but he starts in on the middle pair, giving them every bit as much care and attention as the main wings, then continues on to the last set.

“How’s that?” Sam asks once he’s sure all the feathers of all six wings are properly cared for.

“Amazing. How’d you learn to do that so well? Have you been cheating on me with another angel?” Gabe teases.

“Cheating on you?” Sam chuckles. “Wouldn’t we have to be dating for me to cheat?”

“Semantics, Sammy. I’m claiming you as my permanent wing groomer.”

“So you just want to use me for my skilled hands?”

“Well, they are pretty amazing. Big and strong and so very good at stroking,” Gabe replies with an audible grin. The eyebrow wiggle isn’t audible, but Sam hears it anyway.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not talking about wings anymore?” Sam teases.

“Sure I am, it’s just not _all_ I’m talking about.”

Sam blushes. “Like you know anything about how good… you know what? Nevermind. I’m not being baited by your teasing.”

“Who says I’m teasing?”

Blinking up at gabe, Sam wonders what just happened. He was sure he’d been straddling the archangel’s thighs, but suddenly he’s pinned on his back, Gabe’s weight pressing him into the mattress far greater than he would’ve expected. Maybe the wings are heavier than they look?

“How about I show you just how much I love your hands and every other part of you?” Gabe murmurs, leaning low so that his breath ghosts over Sam’s lips.

He isn’t sure what prompts it, but Sam finds himself sliding a large hand into Gabriel’s hair, pulling him down to erase the last inch of distance between them until their lips meet. Hearing the archangel’s sounds of pleasure as he’d stroked through his beautiful feathers had nudged open the door on feelings he hadn’t realised he had. The press of Gabe’s lips over his, somehow gentle and passionate at the same time, pushes the door wide for Sam to see all the growing affection he’s been harboring for the quirky trickster-angel. 

It might have started when Gabriel risked everything to save them back at Elysian Fields, or it could have been earlier, seeing his frustration with his warring brothers when he’d had Sam and Dean trapped in tv land, or maybe even the way he’d caved at Sam’s hurt and desperate pleas when he’d begged the trickster to bring his brother back after the nightmare mystery spot. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter when it started. It’s here now, in full bloom and filling his chest with something stronger than he’s ever felt before, even for Jess. The angel kissing him, regardless of his vessel, is the most beautiful being he’s ever met. Always trying to hide how deep his feelings run, just like Dean. The only difference is that Gabriel hides his emotions behind jokes and flippancy while Dean uses bravado and gruffness as his shield.

The kiss lasts an eternity, Gabe’s tongue eventually pushing past Sam’s lips to explore as he ruts, possibly subconsciously, against Sam’s stomach. Sam’s own cock twitches its way to fullness at the sensations and as impressive as it is, he’s got nothing on Gabe’s heated, thick length growing between them. One hand still tangled in Gabriel’s soft, golden locks, the other slides over his hip and back until he’s kneading a firm ass cheek, the globe perfectly sized to fit in his hand.

“Fuck, Sam, those hands of yours. Gonna be the death of me,” Gabe gasps, tearing his lips away from Sam’s reluctantly. In a literal snap, Sam finds himself propped up with pillows against the headboard, Gabe straddling his thighs. As he watches, the archangel reaches up behind himself and Sam is entranced by the way his golden wings twitch and shiver. When his hand comes back around, Sam sees it shining with the oil from his glands and watches as Gabe trails an oily finger up the underside of his length (when did he get naked?). “This okay, Sam?” 

Speechless, Sam nods, eyes dark with desire. The moan that escapes him as Gabe’s slicked hand wraps firmly around his cock and starts to stroke, slow but firm, isn’t even close to speech, just a sound of unbridled pleasure.

Gabe grins, leaning forward and up to capture Sam’s lips again and Sam returns the kiss with growing heat as both of his hands grab Gabe’s ass this time, fitting as though they were constructed specifically for encompassing each firm cheek. 

Focused entirely on the feel of Gabriel’s skilled lips and tongue against his, Sam barely registers when the stroking on his cock stops and Gabe positions his throbbing length then sinks down onto it slowly. His hands, however, definitely do take note, squeezing and kneading against the firm ass beneath them, guiding it down until Gabe is fully seated and groaning his satisfaction at being filled into Sam’s mouth.

“Damn, Sam, why did we wait so long to do this?” Gabe asks, breaking the kiss and tipping his head back, offering his throat to Sam as his hips start up a slow rhythm, riding Sam with the ease and skill that comes from millennia of practice.

“I never even thought about the possibility of anything like this between us,” Sam replies, lavishing attention on the offered neck with kisses and nibbles. Gabe moans as Sam nips his way to his ear, drawing the lobe into his mouth and teasing his teeth over it. “But it’s a _very_ nice surprise,” he murmurs huskily, heated breath washing over Gabe’s ear and sending a shudder through him that goes all the way to the tips of his beautiful wings. Keeping one hand on Gabe’s ass, Sam lets the other drift up his back, fingers slicking at the oil glands before stroking through the gorgeous plumage. While he’d been grooming, Sam had paid attention to which touches brought the best reactions, and he puts that knowledge to use, drawing keening whimpers from the archangel riding his cock.

“Holy fuck, Sam, more!” Gabe begs riding faster and harder as waves of pleasure tremor through him.

Sam obliges, reluctantly removing his other hand from Gabe’s ass to stroke both through his wings. His acquiescence is rewarded as Gabe’s hips rock even faster and add a move each time he bottoms out that pushes Sam’s cock even deeper inside him.

“Shit, Gabe, that’s… Keep that up and I’m not going to last much longer!” Sam cries, fingers gripping into the feathers at the base of Gabriel’s top set of wings.

Gabe cries out, the tight grasp on his feathers pushing him over the edge. His release stripes Sam’s chest as he continues rocking frantically, tightening around the thick cock driving into him. He’s still spilling out his pleasure when Sam’s hands move to his hips, yanking him down hard to inject his own release deep inside, shuddering and thrusting as Gabe rides him through it. The pleasure for both is intense, bursting through them over and over until both are spent and Gabe collapses forward onto Sam’s chest, heedless of the mess between them. 

They stay like that for a long time, neither able to speak, trembling with the weakness in spent muscles. Eventually, Gabe manages the effort of raising a hand and snaps his fingers. They both wind up clean and under the covers, snuggled together on Sam’s bed. Looking up, Gabe sees Sam’s frown and kisses his shoulder.

“Sorry, didn’t think either of us had the strength or energy to clean up the normal way.”

“It’s not that,” Sam replies, soothing a hand down Gabe’s bare back. “You put them away.”

“My wings? Yeah, they wouldn’t really fit under the covers. And I’m a cuddler.” Gabe snuggles closer, nuzzling against Sam’s shoulers. “Why, you like them that much, even after spending over an hour grooming them?”

“Yeah, I do. They’re gorgeous.” 

“I promise I’ll bring them out again for you, any time you want.”

“Now?” Sam teases.

“Okay, _almost_ any time you want. Right now, I just want to sleep wrapped up in your arms,” Gabe counters.

“Huh, odd coincidence. I have an overwhelming desire to sleep with my arms wrapped around you at the moment.”

“Guess that works out great for both of us then,” Gabe replies with an audible grin.

“It sure does.” Sam turns onto his side and pulls Gabe closer against his chest, getting comfortable. “I kind of have this feeling that things are going to work out great for both of us a lot from now on.”

“I kinda have a feeling you’re right.” Gabe chuckles and raises a hand one last time to snap the lights off, then sighs contentedly against the strong chest he’s pressed into, listening to the beat of the soft heart beneath.


End file.
